


Cedar Wood and Galleons

by gothamstodd



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Amortentia, Angst, Draco Malfoy is Bad at Feelings, Draco Malfoy is a Little Shit, Enemies to Lovers, Harry Potter is Bad at Feelings, Hogwarts Sixth Year, Hurt Harry Potter, M/M, Making Out, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pining, Unrequited Love, except not, making out in the potions closet, rated t for intense smoochin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:41:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28447842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gothamstodd/pseuds/gothamstodd
Summary: “Crush culture makes me wanna spill my guts out. I know what you're doing, trying to get me to pursue you.” - Crush Culture, Conan GrayMalfoy asks Harry what he smells on his amortentia.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 8
Kudos: 116





	Cedar Wood and Galleons

**Author's Note:**

> This was for a writing challenge on tumblr but I decided to post it here too! I know the amortentia story is way overused in this fandom, but let me have my fun. Let me know what you think! also fuck jkr!

Harry’s temples were shining with sweat. His sleeves haphazardly rolled up, red and gold striped tie loosened. He leaned over his potion, stirring carefully as purplish steam swirled from its pearlescent surface. The fumes of treacle tart, and the polished ebony and hazel of his Firebolt filled his nose. He tried to ignore it, but the third fragrance dug its heels into his senses the strongest, cedar wood hair gel and the familiar metallic scent of galleons.

Harry rubbed at his nose with the back of his hand, as if it would banish the smell. Nothing seemed to help, it was filling him up, stinging his nostrils, hot and steaming down his throat. He pushed away the desire to breathe in ever so slowly and deeply so that it filled his lungs, and the craving to do it again. To lean down so the tip of his nose nearly touched the shining surface of the potion and breathe it in, to savor the feeling of it inflating his body, pushing into his head and making him dizzy.

Instead, he leaned back and raised his hand, catching Slughorn’s eye. As the professor made his way to Harry’s cauldron, he made an effort not to turn his eyes toward Malfoy. He didn’t even notice Hermione’s furtive glance of jealousy at him for finishing first, a tiny voice in his head was begging him to turn and stare. To watch as Draco leaned over his own potion, wonder if he smelled woody broomstick handles and smoking fireplaces.

He shook himself free of the thought and met Slughorn’s cheerful eyes.

“Beautiful execution of the amortentia potion, Mr. Potter.” The professor applauded, patting Harry’s shoulder. “Ten points to Gryffindor. Pour a vial and place it on my desk, then go ahead and clean up your cauldron.”

Harry sighed with relief, eager to get the scent out of his head. He ladled his potion into a glass vial and corked it. He then wound through students and cauldrons to leave it at Professor Slughorn’s desk, along with a slip of parchment that had his name written sloppily across it.

When he turned to come back to his cauldron however, his eyes caught Malfoy’s, who was leaning ever so casually against the table where Harry potion sat, still waiting to be cleaned. His heart jumped up to his throat, fingers tingling with nerves as he bit down on the inside of his cheek. Strands of Malfoy’s hair fell into his eyes as he met Harry’s gaze unwaveringly. Harry expected to see a familiar smirk pulling at Malfoy’s thin lips, but his face was locked in an expression Harry couldn’t identify. He would’ve said it was indifference, but Malfoy’s eyes looked so determined, focused, even conflicted.

Harry walked quickly to his desk, forcing himself into a resentful frown.

“What are you doing here?” He ordered more than asked, avoiding Malfoy’s eyes as he carefully gathered leftover rose petals. A bubbly, excited feeling was crawling up his center, threatening to boil over and fill his chest, soak him with giddiness at the sight of the pale, pointed face ahead of him. He pushed it aside, dread in the fact that it was even there was enough to bring its raging boil to a feeble simmer.

“What do you smell, Potter?” Malfoy drawled under his breath next to Harry, who could feel him standing close, too close. Harry tensed as he felt Malfoy’s long, pale fingers graze his forearm.

“None of your business, Malfoy.” He snapped, daring to turn and look at Draco after he deposited his petals into a jar. Harry could no longer tell if the scent of hair gel and coins was coming from his cauldron or from the boy in front of him.“Get out of my face.” He said through gritted teeth, having to turn his eyes slightly upward to meet Draco’s gaze.

“Harry,” Hermione’s voice sounded from next to him, her tone filled with warning, as it so often was. Harry ignored her, unwilling to back down.

Malfoy only stared down his pointed nose at Harry, as though waiting for him to say something else. Harry’s heart was racing in his chest, pounding against his ribs. It would be so easy to hold Draco’s face in his hands and pull him into a kiss, harsh and passionate, feel Malfoy’s lips against his skin, run his fingers through his hair. 

_He’s playing a game,_ Harry thought to himself, _he knows, he can tell, and he’s using it against me._

Time seemed to freeze as Harry flattened his hands on Malfoy’s chest and shoved him backwards, hard. As Draco stumbled, that ever familiar smirk found its way onto his lips. Malfoy hooked his fingers onto the edge of Harry’s cauldron, unaffected by its heat, and with a gentle pull, sent it careening off the edge of the table. Thin silvery purple liquid arced through the air, the candles that filled the dungeon with dim light shone off of it and flecked through it. The yellow light turned pinkish as it filtered through the potion, speckling peachy light across Malfoy’s nose for a fraction of a moment before the liquid splashed over Harry’s clothes. Hot potion soaked His pants, turning the bottom of his white shirt purple as the cauldron clattered to the ground. The heat of the amortentia stung, and he knew that beneath his clothes, his skin was turning red.

Without a thought of doubt, he reached for his wand, whipping it from his back pocket and pressing it’s tip into the center of Malfoy’s chest. The dark holly point dimpled Malfoy’s emerald and silver striped tie as Harry wracked his mind for a hex. Time restarted and Draco only smiled, his wand still tucked carefully in his robes.  
Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Ron reaching for his wand as well, his ears turning scarlet as he glared at Malfoy.

“Mr. Potter!” Professor Slughorn’s voice sounded from the front of the classroom as he rushed toward the two boys. Ron tucked his wand back into his robes. “Lower your wand.”

“I would’ve expected better from the two of you.” He said, having to place a hand on top of Harry’s wand and force it down to his side. “Ten points from each of your houses.”   
Harry huffed in frustration, not able to tear his gaze away from Malfoy. Silvery eyes bore into his own, still full of emotion Harry couldn’t put together. Conflicted and mischievous, innocent and decisive all at once. “And detention!” Slughorn added.

“Professor-” Malfoy started calmly, breaking the unintentional staring contest himself and turning his eyes to the professor.

“I don’t want to hear it.” Slughorn swished his wand and Harry’s potion disappeared from the stone floor. “Potter, get yourself cleaned up and visit the hospital wing if you must.” 

With immense effort, Harry tugged his eyes away from Malfoy, picked up his bag, and pushed his way to the door without so much of a goodbye to Ron and Hermione.

He sped down the corridors toward Gryffindor tower, fuming. Malfoy’s scent still surrounded him now that it was soaked into his clothes. He would have torn his own heart out through his mouth if it meant this infatuation would go away. And Malfoy only knew how to make it worse, loosen his tie and unbutton his shirt only one button too far, wear his tightest black trousers, run his hand through his hair, roll up his sleeves and stretch his arms in the middle of class, bite on his bottom lip when trying to concentrate. It was as if every day he was trying harder to tempt and manipulate Harry, pull him deeper and deeper into drowning in that scent of cedar wood and metal.

Harry thought about this all the way to his dormitory, while he changed out of his soaked clothes and into clean robes, while walking to his next class, while eating lunch, he thought about it straight through to the end of the day, and it wouldn’t be the first time.

-

By the time he reached Slughorn’s classroom at 5:00 that evening for detention, Harry was exhausted. All he wanted was to draw the thick scarlet curtains of his four-poster and curl up under his blankets. All day, conflicting thoughts had been swimming through his head, and it didn’t help when Malfoy arrived and stood next to him at Slughorn’s desk. There was that scent again, hair product and money. Malfoy had taken off his button-down and was dressed in a simple white t-shirt tucked into his belt. However simple, the outfit still sent Harry’s heart pounding again, his eyes flitting around the room in search of anything to look at other than Malfoy’s exposed arms, or his chest and back outlined perfectly by the thin fabric.

When Slughorn entered the room, Harry’s gaze snapped to him, watching him walk the perimeter of the classroom and sit at his desk. “Alright.” He started, straightening a stack of parchment and digging a quill and red ink from his bag. “I’m going to grade papers.”

Harry and Malfoy nodded almost simultaneously, waiting for instructions, not daring to look at each other. “You two,” continued Slughorn, “Are going to organize the closet,” He pointed at the stores in the corner of the room, where the door hung open. “Two capable potions students like you should have no trouble doing it quickly.”

They started to turn, resigning themselves to the task of standing together in the tight closet and sorting jars of various potions ingredients. Slughorn caught them before they could take a step toward the stores, “And try your hand at getting along for a minute while you’re in there.” He waved his hand dismissively and Harry and Malfoy made their way to the closet.

Several minutes of jars clinking against one another and sliding across shelves passed as Harry and Malfoy worked with their backs to each other. Harry tried hard to ignore him, his scent still harsh on Harry’s nose despite the lack of love potion. He tried to focus his mind on his Defense Against the Dark Arts essay, pushing away each thought of Malfoy that snuck into his mind. It wasn’t easy, every few moments, Harry would bump into him because of how small the closet was.

“Can you mind your space?” Harry snapped finally.

“Am I in your bubble, Potter?” Malfoy shot back sarcastically. Still, they didn’t turn to look at one another, Malfoy avoiding Harry’s eyes just as much as Harry avoided his.

A few more moments of silence passed before Malfoy opened his mouth again, “You never did answer my question.” He said softly, voice lacking it’s usual haughty aire.

“What question?” Harry frowned, pushing a jar of snake hearts out from behind a vial of ground unicorn horn. As much as he had tried to snap, the question had come out just as soft and curious as it felt.

“What did you smell on your potion today?”

Harry sighed in irritation, why did Malfoy care what he smelled off of his potion? “Treacle tart and broomstick.” He answered, sorting stink sap and valerian leaves. Malfoy was trying to manipulate him into spilling his feelings, and he wasn’t going to let him win. 

Another few moments of silence. Harry could feel the stiffness of the air pressing in on his throat.

“I smelled broomstick handle too.” Malfoy said finally. Harry’s brow furrowed, Malfoy had quit quidditch earlier that year. In fact, he never really seemed to have much of an interest in the sport, he only ever wanted to enjoy the feeling of winning. “And a fireplace.” He went on.

Harry’s breath quickened, and he listened as Malfoy stopped sorting jars and turned to face Harry’s back, “What do you think that means, Potter?”

Harry didn’t answer, reading the label of a jar over and over again. He tried to rationalize it, maybe the broomstick reminded Malfoy of winning, and maybe he enjoyed sitting by the fireplace just as much as Harry did. Maybe it all meant nothing and he was just trying to force something out of him.

“I can’t seem to place it.” Malfoy went on. Harry wouldn’t see it, eyes focused on the jar of morning dew in his hands. But Malfoy was lifting a hand, hovering beside Harry’s shoulder, hesitating to grab him and turn him around.

“What do you smell?” He asked again, this time in a whisper. Second guessing, he drew his hand away and let it drop to his side.

“I told you.”

“Did you?”

 _This is his game,_ Harry told himself, daring to set down the jar on a shelf, leaving his hands empty, _he wants me to admit it._

Against his best judgement, he turned to Malfoy, who’s face held a certain sincerity Harry had never seen on him before. _He’s going to wait until I say something then Crabbe and Goyle will come out to laugh at me._

Harry stared down at Malfoy’s chest. He wouldn’t dare meet his silvery eyes, that would be how he’d pull him in, it always was. Draco’s eyes were what set Harry’s heart skipping beats, his guts twisting and knotting, his stomach pooling with something hot and pleading, something like want.

_He’s going to get me to say something, then I’ll see he’s brought Ron and Hermione here to watch me betray their trust._

Malfoy reached up carefully, so carefully. His fingers pushed through Harry’s hair, his palm resting on the back of his neck. He tried to ignore how soft the strands felt on his hand, suppressing what he really wanted to say, _I think I smell you on my potion, Potter. I think sometimes I can’t get you off my mind. You make my pulse race, you make my face go red._

“Cedar wood hair gel and galleons.” Harry said finally, meeting Draco’s gaze. 

Jars clanged against one another as Draco pushed Harry back into the shelf behind him, capturing his lips in a bruising kiss. Malfoy pushed Harry’s cloak off of his shoulders, letting it fall to his elbows as his hands hovered, hesitating.

Pins and needles rushed through Harry’s limbs, the feeling of kissing Draco was nothing less than he imagined. His gut pooling with anticipation, heart racing in his chest. Harry’s hand fell on the small of Malfoy’s back, pulling him closer. His left hand reached up, fingers twining into the hairs at the nape of his neck.

They slotted together so perfectly, flawlessly pushed together in every place they needed. It made their skin tingle with energy, an electricity winding through their bodies, the absolute connection finally igniting the fuse.

Malfoy moved to cup Harry’s cheek, but pulled away. As quickly as he had crashed into Harry, he drew away. Harry leaned against the shelf, hair and robes disheveled as he watched Malfoy, waiting for the explanation, the moment his friends’ laughter would start to echo around them. But it never did.

They stared at one another for an everlasting moment, catching their breaths.

“I-I’m not falling for you.” Malfoy stuttered out finally, his voice suddenly so familiarly cold and harsh and quick.

Harry’s breath quickened, _he knew it._ “Manipulative bastard.”

Malfoy didn’t reply, he pushed open the door of the storeroom and slipped out before speeding from the classroom.

-

Detention had lasted hours longer, Harry carefully sorting jars by himself while Slughorn graded papers. He was numb, pushing away every thought and every emotion that tugged at him until he could hide them safely behind the curtains of his four-poster. He wasn’t sure if Slughorn had even noticed Draco leave, or if he had simply decided to deal with it another time. 

The way back to the dormitory was automatic, he didn’t need to think about where he was going, or anything really. He stared blankly ahead of him, droned the password to the Fat Lady, and climbed through the portrait hole. He didn’t greet anyone in the common room, though most people were still up, doing homework or talking with friends. He ignored them, and climbed the stairs to the dormitory.

The hardest part was accepting that he’d let himself get caught up in the moment, he’d let himself fall. He’d given in to the belief that somehow Malfoy could sincerely fall for him. 

Reaching to the floor to pick up his potion soaked shirt, he fell into bed and drew his curtains. Curling into a fetal position still atop his covers, Harry finally let tears free to roll across his face. He held the shirt to his chest and breathed in the scent with slow, deep breaths. Cedar wood and coins overwhelming his senses just as it had when Malfoy had kissed him. The potion was cold now, a chill creeping down his fingers from where he gripped the shirt. He had pushed away this constricting, aching pain for months, but now it was sharp, stabbing agony. It wouldn’t be ignored anymore. Harry choked on a sob, pushing his face into the soaked fabric. He breathed it in again and let it fill him. It all made him want to spill his guts out.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I would love to know what you think!


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